


Missed Connection

by asmallwave



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmallwave/pseuds/asmallwave
Summary: i’m the shockingly attractive guy who tripped over a rock and ate shit. ur the hot blond who laughed and kept walkinginterested in going out sometime? i’d skin my knees again if it meant i got to see you ;)Laurent turned to Auguste.  “OK, and?”Auguste’s expression hovered somewhere between astonishment and disappointment.  Clearly it was upsetting to him that Laurent couldn’t understand what he was so desperate to show him.  “Laurent, that’syou!”In which Auguste tries to play matchmaker.





	1. Chapter One

How Auguste had managed to find him, holed up in a back corner of one of campus’s rarely-used libraries, Laurent didn’t know.

Why, when he did find him, Auguste felt the need to slam both hands down on the tabletop in front of him, making Laurent nearly jump out of his skin, he also didn’t know.

Laurent glared, yanking the earbuds out of his ears. “ _What_?” he snapped.

Auguste, seemingly unperturbed by Laurent’s ire, grabbed the empty chair across the table from Laurent and began dragging it around to Laurent’s side, scraping it loudly across the industrial carpet in the hollow quiet of the library. 

“You’ve got to see this,” Auguste said in a normal speaking voice.

Laurent’s shot nerves took some pleasure in shushing him obnoxiously. Since this was one of the lesser-loved libraries on campus there weren’t many people around to be annoyed with them, but Laurent was concerned more with the principle of the thing than anything else.

August had pulled out his laptop. When he opened it, it took a good minute to warm up. In the meantime, Auguste fairly bounced next to him, shooting him sly looks every few seconds.

Laurent turned back to his textbook.

There was some typing and clicking, and then Auguste said, “OK. OK, here it is. Look.”

Laurent looked. It was a Craigslist post titled: _breezeway trail – m4m_

“Poor capitalization,” Laurent commented. “Anything else?”

Auguste rolled his eyes. “ _Read it_.”

Laurent sighed, made a little production of getting settled in his chair, and then read the post:

_i’m the shockingly attractive guy who tripped over a rock and ate shit. ur the hot blond who laughed and kept walking_

_interested in going out sometime? i’d skin my knees again if it meant i got to see you ;)_

He turned to Auguste. “OK, and?”

Auguste’s expression hovered somewhere between astonishment and disappointment. Clearly it was upsetting to him that Laurent couldn’t understand what he was so desperate to show him. “Laurent, that’s _you_!” 

Laurent blinked. “What?” He turned back to the post, thinking he had missed a key detail.

Auguste pointed theatrically at the computer. “That’s about you! We were there!”

Laurent read over the post and then thought about it again. He did see a jogger fall when he and Auguste were walking back from lunch the day before.

Laurent turned back to his brother. “Or it’s about you.”

Auguste’s expression swung from doubtful to thoughtful and then back again. “Wait,” he said. “But I didn’t laugh.”

“You didn’t?”

“It looked like it hurt!”

“Of course it hurt,” said Laurent. “A giant bear of a person—”

“—Laurent—”

“—tripping over his own feet—” 

“—Laurent!”

“—and faceplanting into the dirt—”

“—Focus!”

Laurent sighed. “So, what if it is about me?”

The look on Auguste’s face screamed exasperation. Auguste looked maybe a second away from screaming himself. “Then you respond…obviously!”

A bubble of laughter escaped up Laurent’s throat and out of his mouth before he could stop it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, Laurent.” Auguste leaned toward him, jabbing his finger at the screen of his computer. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud—the guy was hot.”

“All the more reason for you to respond,” Laurent pointed out.

Auguste’s nose wrinkled up. “Not my type.”

Laurent was on the verge of pointing out that Auguste’s only type _was_ “hot” but in the end, he figured the lie was obvious enough.

“Well,” said Laurent, pulling his book closer. “I appreciate you running over here to show me that.”

Auguste dragged his computer back toward himself, sighing. A few minutes of near-silence silence passed with Auguste typing now and then on his computer. Enough time that Laurent almost fell back into the rhythm of his organic chemistry book when the clacking of keyboard keys got significantly louder and drew his attention.

However, when he looked up again, Auguste hit one last key and then closed his laptop with a snap. 

“Since I’m here, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Still in a normal speaking voice. Still in the library. Laurent closed his book as well and began packing up his things. “Let’s go, then. You’re clearly determined to distract me.”

The frustrating thing about Auguste was that Laurent’s acerbity didn’t seem to faze him at all anymore. Instead of contriteness, he only grinned and stood, scooping up his computer. “Great, we can get dinner.”

The something Auguste wanted to talk to him about was revealed in fits and starts over steaming Thai food at a local place close to their apartment. When Laurent finally got the gist, his hand paused halfway to his mouth, dripping tom yum soup into his bowl.

“A Halloween party,” he said.

Auguste shoveled another forkful of pad kee mao into his mouth and shrugged, saying something that Laurent couldn’t decipher, but the tone seemed to be exceptionally noncommittal.

“A Halloween party at a _fraternity_ ,” Laurent emphasized. Then another thought hit him, and he dropped his spoon back into his bowl. “Who invited you to a frat party?”

“What does that matter? Any number of people could have invited me.”

“Any number of people could have invited a law school student to an undergrad frat party?”

Auguste’s eyes narrowed. “Grad students are extremely fun people, Laurent. Just because you wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the face—”

“Well, I’d hate to ruin your night by being so unfun,” said Laurent. “You’re free to go without me.”

Auguste’s annoyed look morphed into one of mild resignation. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re coming. It’ll be fun for both of us.”

Laurent picked up his spoon again, not speaking. After a few bites, he looked up to see Auguste watching him, lips sticking out slightly. If he were younger Laurent would have called it pouting.

Auguste tilted his chin down and prodded his food around with his fork. Then he slanted a glance up at Laurent through his eyelashes. “I already know what our costumes will be.”

Laurent didn’t even try to suppress his groan. _Costumes_. Of course Auguste saved the worst detail for last.

Laurent refused to engage in any more frat party talk for the rest of the night. Auguste, seeming to sense that he had reached a wall and no amount of cajoling could get Laurent to change his mind, gave up and moved to milder subjects, keeping up a steady level of chatter as they left the restaurant and headed home.

When they returned to their apartment, Laurent unpacked his bag and set his organic chemistry book on the desk in his room, tracing his finger over the cover. He thought back to that Craiglist post: 

_ur the hot blond who laughed and kept walking_

_interested in going out sometime? i’d skin my knees again if it meant i got to see you ;)_

Heat rushed up his neck and into his cheeks as he recalled what little he remembered of the jogger. Big, with arms and legs corded in muscle, dark skin, dark hair, and—Laurent remembered in the moment before he’d tripped—dark eyes that had met his own as they passed.

Laurent drew in a slow breath, flicked off his bedroom light, and climbed into bed.

________________________________________

Laurent had almost forgotten Auguste’s threat of the party by the time Halloween rolled around a week later. He had barely seen Auguste in the intervening days, both of them tied up in their studies, so it was with some shock that on the Friday before Halloween when Laurent entered the apartment, Auguste bolted out of his back bedroom to accost him at the door.

“I have our Halloween costumes.”

“Excuse me?” Laurent asked, beginning to toe out of his shoes and drop his bag by the door.

“Our costumes!” Auguste shouted, brimful of enthusiasm. “Look, look!” He picked up two clear bags draped over the back of a kitchen chair. “So,” he said, “I’m going as a fireman, and you’re—”

“—a dog,” Laurent finished, staring at the second bag, which featured a picture on the front of a dirty blonde all-American type girl with arms akimbo wearing a spotted black and white shirt and a pair of floppy ears attached to a headband. “Is this a joke?”

“Not a dog,” Auguste said at once, “a _Dalmatian_.”

Laurent stared.

“Come on,” Auguste coaxed. “It’d be cool!”

Laurent look at the firefighter costume, modeled on the packaging by a muscle-bound gorilla with a smirk. “For you,” he said.

Auguste hesitated. That look, that almost-pout was back. “Well. Yeah.”

“Well, no,” Laurent said, shoving the bag with the dog costume back at Auguste.

He started to turn away, but paused when Auguste said, “I’ll give you my old course notes for Professor Layman’s class.”

Laurent smirked, turning back to Auguste. “You only passed Professor Layman’s class because you slept with his TA. I wouldn’t rely on your notes for anything.”

Auguste winced. “I forgot you knew about that,” he muttered.

Laurent turned once more, but again was drawn up to a halt when Auguste said, “I’ll pay your part of the rent for the rest of the term.”

That offer was a lot more useful to him. After their father died, there was a small amount of funds that Laurent received, but the vast majority of his inheritance was in a trust fund and unavailable to him until he turned 21. If he wanted to stay in school…and if he wanted to avoid asking his uncle for money, it would be nice to have some wiggle room. 

“Come on, Laurent,” said Auguste, his tone softening. “This is your first year in college—you should at least try to have some fun.”

That tone from Auguste tended to work on Laurent in a way that most other things didn’t. There was a not so small part of him that wanted to do this, despite his discomfort and rising tide of anxiety at the idea of traveling to a den of inequity known as a frat house. That was the part that most closely resembled the child he’d once been, the one who had been desperate to be just like Auguste, desperate to earn his respect and adoration the same way that he had Laurent’s.

That part of himself had gotten quieter as he’d gotten older, but it was still there.

“Fine,” Laurent said. “Pay my rent through the end of term and I’ll go with you.”

He could practically feel the pleased silence from Auguste that followed him out of the room.  
________________________________________

The more time that passed between when Laurent agreed to go to the party, and when the party actually arrived made him rethink his aversion to asking his uncle for money.

Auguste wasn’t cruel, or selfish. Laurent knew that he would just give him money if he asked for it. Auguste had already received his share of their father’s inheritance, and would be more than willing to share with Laurent. But doing that seemed like cheating somehow. 

Laurent didn’t want to have to rely on Auguste, or their uncle. Now that he was outside their family home, striking out on his own, he wanted to do all of it on his own. He wanted to prove that he could.

So Laurent kept to their bargain. He put on his costume, including the stupid headband, and waited while Auguste did the same. Auguste was brimming with excitement as they walked out the door and across the few blocks to fraternity row, and nearly as soon as they set foot inside, he took one look around the room and disappeared into the crowd. This left Auguste to look like a dashing firefighter, and left Laurent to look like a mongrel who’d lost its owner.

Aside from the spotted-ear headband and spotted shirt, there’d been a stick of black face paint in the bag with the costume (“for your nose and whiskers!” Auguste had explained with an indecent level of glee at Laurent’s clear confusion).

All in all, Laurent felt particularly homicidal.

He had parked himself by the table with the drinks, (after a lengthy search to find them, which led him around the entire bottom of the house and through throngs of drunk, scantily clad bodies, before finally locating it near the other side of the door that he’d come in) thinking that if he were going to be here, he’d have to be a lot more drunk than he was currently. But he had barely taken a sip of the cup he had dunked into a large punch bowl when someone huge suddenly appeared beside him and shouted in his ear.

“Holy shit. You actually came!”

Laurent stiffened, then looked up. And _up_. “What?” But even as the word was leaving his mouth, he realized he recognized the guy talking to him. The jogger. “Oh.”

“You came!” the guy said again. Then he grinned, a slightly sheepish expression crossing his face. A dimple appeared in one of his cheeks, and Laurent raised his glass and took a quick swallow. “I, uh, didn’t think you would.”

Laurent blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t think you’d come. I mean, after you messaged me—”

“ _Messaged you_?”

The guy paused, frowning. Then he raked a hard look over Laurent, from his head to his toes and back up again. Laurent was ready with a rude comment when the guy leaned in, peering into his eyes. “Huh,” he said eventually.

Disconcerting enough to have him standing so close, let alone looking directly into Laurent’s eyes. Laurent grimaced and took a pointed step away. He had a sudden memory of being shown the Craiglist ad, turning back to his book while Auguste started typing on his computer, then the invitation to the party right after.

Laurent wasn’t stupid, and it didn’t take much to figure out what had happened. Laurent wondered if the heat of his anger could melt the stupid black face paint off his nose and cheeks. “You’re looking for my brother,” said Laurent. “Not me.”

He made to brush past him, but the guy caught his arm and held him back.

Laurent stopped dead in his tracks, and the guy let go of him at once, looking sheepish again. “Sorry,” he said. “Just—I’m not looking for your brother.”

Laurent opened his mouth, almost began to walk away, but the guy steamrolled over him. “The post—it was about you. I was talking about you.”

Laurent’s heart beat once in his chest, thudding hard. He lifted his chin. “Right. Well. My brother was the one who messaged you, not me. I’m not interested.”

The light in his brown eyes seemed to dim, but he was still smiling. “OK,” he said. He took a step back. Or, he tried to, but suddenly there was a pale arm around his shoulders, and another draped across Laurent’s a moment later.

Laurent stiffened, but it was only Auguste. Auguste, who was smiling and looking between the two of them. “So, we meet again!”

Laurent shrugged off his arm, turning to top off his cup of punch, although he had barely drunk out of it yet. Behind him he could hear Auguste and the jogger—what was his _name_ , anyway? Not that it mattered—talking over the din of the room, but the finer points were left out.

As Laurent turned back around, Auguste said, “He takes a while to warm up.” Then slanted a glance at Laurent.

Laurent was torn between dumping his drink over Auguste’s head to teach him a lesson for being a busybody, or dumping it over his own head to cool himself down. As it was, his face felt as though it went up in flames.

The guy—the huge mountain of a person—only laughed, that light returning to his eyes again as he looked at Laurent.

Then, finally, he held out a huge paw and said, “I’m Damen.”

Laurent reluctantly shook it, disengaging as soon as politeness allowed. “Laurent.”

“I’m Auguste!” Auguste nearly shouted, swinging a fist around to hover in front of Damen. Damen’s brow rose marginally, but he bumped his own fist against Auguste’s obligingly.

There was a moment of silence before Auguste, _who could hold a conversation with a brick wall_ , as their father used to lament, said, “So Damen what are you studying? What year are you?”

Laurent shot a look at Auguste, his discomfort mounting. Auguste, who had turned to pour himself a glass of punch and then look idly around the room while waiting for Damen’s answer, seemed not to notice.

Damen opened his mouth when another guy bumped into this shoulder, then seemed delighted by who he’d run into and gave Damen a brisk hug. Damen returned it, grinning, said something to the guy that Laurent couldn’t hear over the beat of the music, then returned his attention to him and Auguste. 

“I’m a senior,” Damen said. “Majoring in Criminology.” 

Auguste’s attention snagged back to him, and he said, “Really? Are you planning on going to law school?”

Another person grabbed Damen’s attention at that point, greeting him jubilantly, but he deflected them with a quick smile and clap on the shoulder, turning back to Auguste. “Ah, no.” He seemed a little embarrassed, pausing to glance at Laurent. “I’m thinking of becoming a cop. Or working in law enforcement somehow…”

“Very chivalrous,” said Auguste, pointedly and obviously nudging Laurent’s side with his elbow, giving him an exaggerated wink.

Laurent thought he might have been able to fry an egg on his own face. Before he could tell Auguste that he would eviscerate him if this went any further, Auguste turned back to Damen, who was watching the two of them with open amusement.

“Laurent has a good heart like you,” said Auguste. “He’s going to become a doctor.”

If not for the utter humiliation of the moment rooting him to the floor, Laurent would have bolted out of there. He had flashbacks of his father calling him into the study as a child to meet his business associates, telling them about Laurent’s interests and accomplishments while Laurent stood there like a dutiful trophy. 

Damen seemed unperturbed, turning toward Laurent with interest. “Really?” he said. “That’s so—”

What is was, Laurent never got to hear as yet another person sidled up to Damen and diverted his attention. This time it was a blonde woman wearing a clinging red dress that ended just above her knees, and a pair of red horns attached to a headband.

She wrapped an arm around Damen’s waist and leaned close, smiling up at him as he turned to look at her.

At the same moment Laurent looked around and found that Auguste had disappeared into the crowd, no doubt on the search for more exciting pursuits. With Damen distracted and Auguste gone, Laurent made to beat a hasty retreat, but paused when Damen said, “Oh, hey—”

He was looking at Laurent a little quizzically, the girl still attached to his side also looking curiously in Laurent’s direction.

“Bathroom,” Laurent said, by way of explanation.

Damen’s expression cleared. “You can go upstairs,” he said. “The one down here is—”

“Thanks,” Laurent said, and with a quick wave over his shoulder did his best to melt into the crowd.

He headed up the stairs, dodging people drinking or smoking on the stairs. He pushed through the first door at the top of the landing and found two people sitting on the edge of the bed kissing. He closed the door quickly, but neither of them so much as glanced in his direction.

The next door he found was locked. The third was another bedroom, this one empty, but Laurent hesitated on the threshold when he caught sight of the huge Sigma Chi banner with the coat of arms hanging on the opposite wall.

“Jesus,” he muttered, starting to close the door when a picture on the desk next to the banner caught his attention. He waited a beat longer, then stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

If Damen didn’t want someone in his room, he would have locked the door, right?

Because that’s whose room this was, based on the picture on the desk of a young Damen with his arm around another man who looked as though he might have been his brother.

Next to the picture on the desk was a stack of text books, with one laying open. Laurent recognized the open one at once; it was the same as his own calculus book. There were notes in the margin of the book—either Damen’s or the student he’d bought this copy from. But there was something about the handwriting, as well as some of the notes ( _meet in nik’s room later? he got a new console_ , and _u think prof keller puts his kids to bed by forcing them to listen to him talk abt differential equations?_ ) that Laurent thought were from Damen.

Which was a ridiculous thing to think in the first place, considering that he didn’t even know Damen.

There was a thump outside the door, loud enough that Laurent jumped and quickly turned. He paused for a moment, wondering if someone was going to try and come in the room, but when nothing happened Laurent quickly exited Damen’s room.

And ran almost directly into another couple on the verge of attempting vertical copulation. At least he knew what the thudding was.

He gave up on his bathroom search in favor of just leaving and began wending his way downstairs. He pulled out his phone as he was passing through the front door to text Auguste: _I’m leaving._

By the time he made it back to his apartment, tossed his headband onto the floor of his bedroom, and dropped onto his bed, Auguste still hadn’t responded. 

In the morning when Laurent looked at his phone again, he had one indecipherable text from Auguste from 3 o’clock that morning.

Laurent groaned and wiped a hand down his face, surprising himself for a moment when his hand came back with black smears across it before he realized he’d forgotten to wash the paint off his face.

He scrubbed his face in the bathroom sink until his face was red, and was halfway back to his room when he walked right into a tall brunette woman heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh!” she said. “Sorry—I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

Laurent stared. “Who the hell are you?”

She opened her mouth to answer when Auguste called, “Do I hear the voice of my loving brother?”

Laurent gritted his teeth as Auguste peered into the hallway, looking haggard but happy. “Mel, this is Laurent. Laurent, Mel.”

Mel gave him a sheepish smile that Laurent couldn’t bring himself to return.

“We have breakfast ready if you want to join,” Auguste said, pointing back toward the kitchen. 

“I’m going to the pool,” said Laurent, then edged around Mel and eased back into his bedroom.

He put a swimsuit, towel, and goggles into a mesh bag when Auguste popped his head into his room without knocking.

“I’m not having breakfast with you and your one-night stand,” he said before Auguste could say anything else.

“I wasn’t planning on offering again,” said Auguste. “I just saw this. Thought you might be interested.”

He passed Laurent his phone, and Laurent tapped the screen to find yet another Craiglist missed connection post. He almost gave the phone back without looking, unsure if he even wanted to know what it said. But in the end his curiosity won out.

The subject read: _sigma chi house – m4m_. Laurent took a breath before reading on.

_ur the cute dalmatian that ran off to the bathroom and didn’t come back. i’m the guy who wants to talk to you again…maybe with fewer people around. :) call me?_

Laurent blinked. “He put his phone number on the internet.”

“Yeah,” said Auguste, taking his phone back. “He must be into you, or else he’s just an idiot.”

Laurent felt his cheeks heat. Then he picked up his bag and headed toward the front door.

“So you’re gonna call him, right?” Auguste said, trailing after him.

“No—I’m going to go to the pool.”

“You’re an idiot, too!” Auguste called after him as he opened the door. Laurent flipped him off over his shoulder, then let the door slam shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as with most things, this has been sitting partially written for about a year now. second chapter is nearly done, but the rest might be a tiny bit slower in coming.


	2. Chapter Two

The first snow of the season took Laurent by surprise when he stepped outside his apartment in mid-November and his foot crunched on a hard ground frost. He grimaced and considered going inside to get a heavier coat, but glanced at his phone and saw he was likely going to be late for his calculus class even if he rushed, and decided to go without it.

Even walking quickly across campus he was still close to shivering by the time he arrived—four minutes late—to his calculus lecture. The classes were getting more crowded as finals approached, and his regular spot was taken. He edged along a partially empty row near the front, glancing up to see a pair of dark brown eyes watching him.

Laurent dropped his gaze, then dropped into the first empty seat he came across, a few seats down from Damen.

He made sure to keep his gaze fixed on either his notebook or Professor Keller until the end of class. When the bell rang and Professor Keller tried ineffectually to get through a couple more points over the scrape of chairs and ruffling of papers, Laurent also tried to gather up his things and bolt.

He was hampered by the students in front of him also trying to leave and blocking the aisle. By the time he managed to reach the end of the row he could feel someone just behind him.

“You’re a freshman in a 200-level calculus class?”

Laurent tightened his arm around his book, glancing back to look at Damen. “You’re a senior in a 200-level calculus class?”

A slow grin spread across Damen’s face, making the dimple in his cheek appear. He took a few long strides to reach Laurent’s side and then kept pace with him as they left the building.

“Maybe you could tutor me,” said Damen. “Since you’re such a savant.”

Laurent hesitated, unsure how to respond to that, but in the end it didn’t matter. Damen’s attention was snagged by a blonde girl who caught his arm as they were leaving the building. Her gaze met Laurent’s and Laurent realized she was the same woman who had approached Damen at the Halloween party.

Laurent stepped away when Damen looked as though he might force an introduction.

“I have class,” Laurent said, then set off across campus.

Damen might have said something to him after that, Laurent thought he might have heard “tonight,” but he didn’t turn back, and he didn’t stop walking. He made it to his anatomy class a few minutes early, and without the distracting knowledge that someone was occasionally watching him, he was actually able to take decent notes.

Afterward, Laurent returned to the apartment to get a start on his assignments. His English literature class was an evening class that started at 6:30, and by the time he had made himself a sandwich for dinner and was contemplating walking back across campus in the freezing cold, he was seriously considering skipping.

He had almost convinced himself to when Auguste came back, some of his law school buddies in tow, and his decision was made for him.

“You don’t want a hit before class?” one of them asked as Laurent put a hand on the doorknob. He glanced up to see a guy lounged on his couch, looking as though he were trying to become one with it, holding a joint in Laurent’s direction.

Laurent let the door close behind him with a snap.

Professor Johnston’s lectures, while somewhat interesting if one generally enjoyed literature, were still difficult to stomach for two hours in the late evening. By the time the class was free to leave, Laurent dragged himself out of his chair with the rest of the suckers who had managed to make it in.

It was only a 20-minute walk back to his apartment, but Laurent was slowed by exhaustion and the cold. He was still on campus when he felt, more than heard, someone behind him.

He glanced around to see two girls behind him, talking quietly. Campus was relatively empty at this time of night, but there were still a few people moving around up ahead, heading to or from their dorms.

A few moments passed by the time the girls gained on him. When he heard the scuff of a shoe directly behind him, he glanced over his shoulder again, only to get a glimpse of blonde hair and a vaguely familiar face, then everything turned dark as a hood was placed over his head.

Laurent stopped dead, reaching up immediately to take it off, only for both girls to grab his arms and yank them down behind his back.

“What the fuck—”

“Shh,” one of them said, binding his hands together. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far.”

“What is this?” Laurent asked, as two sets of hands grabbed his arms and started walking him off campus.

“We’re going to a party,” the second girl said. As if the circumstances couldn’t get any worse.

“You have the wrong person,” said Laurent. “I’m not into parties.”

The second girl snorted, tugging Laurent forward when he dug in his heels and tried to force them to stop walking him forward. “I’ve noticed.”

Laurent turned toward the voice despite the blackness surrounding his face, but he looked forward again and attempted to carefully walk his way across the icy ground when his foot nearly slipped out from under him.

Laurent felt when the ground changed from the smooth sidewalks on campus to the bowed and broken sidewalks in the surrounding neighborhood. At the same time he felt this, the first girl asked, “Which house is it?”

“Sigma Chi,” the other responded, and Laurent sighed.

“What’s the matter?” the second girl asked. “I thought you liked that house.”

Laurent didn’t get a chance to respond when he stepped forward and hit his shin painfully against concrete.

“Oops,” the first girl said. “Step up.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Laurent carefully tread up the stairs of what he assumed was the Sigma Chi fraternity. The music that suddenly assaulted him, along with a blast of mercifully warm air, let him know that they’d arrived.

He could hear voices, cheering and jeering as he continued his way into the house, led by his two kidnappers. He was told to step up once more, and then told to sit. Laurent did both carefully, and finally once he was seated the tie was removed from his wrists, and the bag was tugged unceremoniously off his head.

Laurent pushed his hair out of his eyes and took a look around.

“You said you were taking me to a party, not a prison cell.”

A drink was shoved into his hands through the bars of the large cage that he—and a couple of other men and women—were currently locked up in.

“Cheers,” said a voice that Laurent recognized as the second girl. Laurent looked around and saw the blonde that was always hanging around Damen lounging outside the cage.

“Name,” a man demanded from beside her, meeting Laurent’s eye.

“Why?” Laurent asked, taking a sip of the drink. It tasted mostly like sugar, and Laurent had a moment of worrying how much alcohol that was hiding before he took another gulp.

The man looked up at him instead of the phone in his hands. “To keep track of all the volunteers.”

Laurent frowned. “Volunteers for what?”

The man looked confused, until the woman with blonde hair drew his attention by saying, “Oh no, he didn’t volunteer. This was a spur of the moment entry.”

The man’s eyes looked ready to bug out of his head. “Spur of the moment?” He hurried toward the short side of the cage, fumbling with the door. “Jo, you can’t fake kidnap someone who didn’t volunteer.”

Laurent peered into the depths of his cup, trying to figure out what was in it. “That’s called real kidnapping,” he said.

Jo smacked the man’s hand away from the lock on the cage door. He glared at her, but didn’t move to try again.

“You’re also supposed to be bringing in the girl volunteers, not more dudes,” he said.

Jo’s eyes slid to Laurent. “Don’t worry, Nik. Damen won’t mind.”

Nik narrowed his eyes at her, then turned his gaze to Laurent, seemed to size him up. Then he rolled his eyes. 

He said, “Oh, great,” just before he moved down the cage to the next person inside, who seemed fairly cheerful to be there.

It took a few minutes for Laurent to realize he still had all of his things still on him. Most importantly, he still had his phone. He pulled it out and texted Auguste.

_Kidnapped by two sorority sisters. Currently being held in cage at Sigma Chi._

Laurent had barely put his phone back in his pocket when it buzzed.

Auguste: _……..seriously?_

Laurent frowned. _Yes._

Auguste: _Do I need to bail you out?_

Laurent: _I’ll let you know if it looks like they’re preparing to perform a ritual sacrifice to any gods._

Auguste: _god of booze?_

Auguste: _god of sex?_

Auguste: _god of making freshman eat used condoms in the name of caveman-level hazing?_

Laurent grimaced. _You’ll hear me scream if they try to make me eat a used condom._

He shoved his phone back in his pocket before Auguste could respond. By the time someone else outside the cage passed him a second drink, the cage had filled with a couple more people who were lounging around and chatting. He seemed to be the only one to have a legitimate kidnapping experience.

The house around the cage was also filling up. It seemed the kidnapping sisters were correct and there was an actual party that was starting. If he hadn’t been literally dragged here against his will, he might even have tried to enjoy it, but he was beginning to feel a bit like a monkey in a cage as more and more people entered the frat.

The only good part was that the partygoers were giving the monkeys free booze.

Despite the buzz, Laurent was seriously starting to get bored when the lights cut out. A few screams and shouts of surprise, as well as some girlish laughter, filled the room for a moment until the lights came back.

When they did, a line of men and women all in red cloaks with heads bowed were at the back of the room. Laurent’s hand twitched toward his phone. Red, floor-length cloaks seemed like the beginnings of a sacrifice to him.

When a man stepped out of line and lowered his hood, Laurent stopped trying to get his phone. He did, however, take another hearty swig of his drink.

“Welcome,” Damen said to the crowd, who yelled back at him.

Damen grinned at them all, like a king looking benevolently upon his people, and Laurent rolled his eyes and took another drink.

“As you might have noticed,” Damen said, “we have a few volunteers in the room who’ve agreed to be ransomed to us in the name of charity.”

Laurent frowned, cup partway to his mouth. 

Damen continued: “All funds raised by the volunteers for their freedom will be donated to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.”

Another round of cheers went up, and Damen smiled again. Laurent wondered just what the fuck was happening, precisely.

“Volunteers, be ready to call your friends and family to help pay your way to freedom.” Damen strode toward the cage and continued, “Let the ransoming begin.”

The line of hooded figures at the back broke up, beginning to mingle with the crowd who seemed to have immediately lost interest in the proceedings and had gone back to drinking and dancing.

Along with Damen, Nik, Jo and a few other fraternity and sorority members headed toward the cage. 

Nik’s eyes were on his phone, no doubt pulling up the list of names of the volunteers. They started at the far end, talking to each person and determining how much they could pay, and then releasing them to join the throng.

It was slow going. People called their friends, their family, who all seemed to be well aware this was happening and cheerfully donated money to the cause, based on the way money or promises of money flowed freely from the kidnapped to the kidnappers.

Laurent watched as the cage got emptier and emptier. By the time they reached him, he was one of the few left, and Damen’s eyes skidded past him before coming back to him. A grin came to his face again, and he wrapped one hand around the bars of the cage, nearly putting his face up against them to peer in.

“I didn’t see your name on the list of volunteers,” he said.

“Because he didn’t volunteer,” said Jo. 

Damen turned to look at her, seeming confused.

Jo looked supremely unconcerned when she said, “Cindy and I brought him in when we saw him walking across campus. As a gift to you.”

Damen just looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Jesus Christ, Jo,” and strode toward the end of the cage and unlocked it. When he climbed in he was so tall he had to crouch the entire way to Laurent. By the time he reached him, he offered Laurent a hand to help him to his feet.

Laurent was buzzed enough to take it and was glad he did when his knees almost immediately buckled upon standing.

“Whoa,” Damen said, firming up his grip, his other hand grabbing Laurent’s elbow. “Let’s get you out of here.” His gaze flicked to Jo. “And maybe I can convince you not to press kidnapping charges.”

Laurent reached for his bookbag, which he’d long ago discarded on the floor of the cage, but as he leaned over to pick it up, he realized that Damen had already grabbed it and was slinging it over his own shoulder.

“I can carry it,” Laurent protested.

“You just focus on walking,” said Damen, beginning to steer Laurent out of the cage.

There was a step down at the door that Laurent stumbled, more than stepped, over, but Damen was there with a hand on his elbow again to steady him.

“Where are you going?” Jo asked, planting herself in front of them as Damen led them toward the doorway.

“I’m taking him home, Jo.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, standing up a little taller. She was statuesque in her beauty, and looking cold and domineering only served to make her prettier.

“He hasn’t been ransomed,” she said. “You can’t take him.”

“Considering that he didn’t volunteer for any of this, I’m going to let it slide.”

“You can’t—”

Damen’s voice deepened, and a hint of a command slid into it when he said, “Yes, I can.”

Jo must have heard it too because she closed her mouth, but her expression didn’t soften. She did, however, step out of his way.

Damen continued on, still holding Laurent’s elbow and guiding him through the crowd. Every so often someone would call out Damen’s name, and Damen would turn and greet someone, maybe give a little wave. But he didn’t stop moving toward the door.

At the threshold to the frat, he stopped.

“Oh, hey.” Damen turned to him. “You didn’t want to stay, did you? Party a little? I just thought—I was going to take you home, but if you want to stay—”

“No,” Laurent said. “I do not want to stay.”

Damen said, “OK, great,” and headed out into the cold and the dark.

Laurent shivered immediately upon stepping outside, and again was stopped from slipping with a hand on his elbow.

“Why don’t I just leave this here,” Damen said, squeezing Laurent’s arm in response to his confused look.

Laurent felt his face heat, and he looked forward again, leading the way to his apartment. He was thinking about their exit, about Jo, and before he could stop himself, he said, “You’re very…popular.”

He looked up at Damen in time to see an embarrassed expression flit across his face. But if Laurent squinted he thought maybe it was also a little pleased.

“Well. I’ve been in the frat system for a while. You meet a lot of new people.”

“Right,” said Laurent, “but everyone also seems to _like_ you.”

Damen barked out a laugh, the sound startingly loud now that they were passing into the quieter streets away from the Greek houses. “You sound surprised,” said Damen. “Should I be offended?”

Laurent shrugged, at the same time sneaking a glance up at him. Damen was just smiling at him, looking completely unperturbed. He reminded Laurent a little of Auguste in that way—easygoing.

Then his gaze dropped to Damen’s attire. “Aren’t you cold?”

Damen glanced down at himself, as if just noticing that he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans under his measly red cloak. “I’ll live,” he said.

Laurent shivered, and Damen’s hand moved from his elbow to the small of his back, drawing him in closer to his body. Despite Damen’s meager clothing, he was radiating heat, and Laurent felt himself move a bit closer into his side as they walked.

It was a long moment later when Damen said, “Is this OK?”

Laurent didn’t respond, but he didn’t stop walking and he didn’t shrug Damen off, and Damen seemed to think that was answer enough.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until finally they turned onto Laurent’s street and Damen said, “I’m sorry about Jo.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, and after a moment Damen huffed out a breath, fog hanging in the air in front of his mouth for a moment before dissipating. He continued: “She’s…different. I hope she didn’t scare you too much.”

“They weren’t very threatening,” Laurent said.

Damen looked at him and smiled a little. “That’s good. Jo can be threatening when she wants to be. When we were going out—”

“You went out?” Laurent asked, louder than he intended to.

Damen slowed to a stop and looked at him, his hand sliding to rest against Laurent’s back again.

“We went out,” Damen confirmed. “Sophomore year. She dumped me for my brother.”

There was a lot to unpack in all that. Laurent’s mind struggled for a way to respond. Finally, he said, “You’re straight?”

Damen laughed. Damen laughed for a good long while. Laurent waited, with some annoyance, until he finally settled down, but he still looked at Laurent with a smile on his face.

Then Damen’s hand slipped a little, rubbing up Laurent’s back before settling at the base of his spine again. “I’m bi,” he said. 

He seemed to hesitate, then his gaze drifted upward toward Laurent’s forehead. They were standing under one of the streetlights by his apartment building, the ones that always washed him out. Laurent thought that to Damen’s eyes he must look like a ghost.

But what Damen said was, “And I have a thing for blondes.” 

It wasn’t really a compliment, so Laurent wasn’t sure why exactly he felt a giddy thrill at those words in the pit of his stomach, but he did.

Laurent’s throat clicked when he swallowed, his mouth dry. Damen was just looking at him, and Laurent realized suddenly that one of Damen’s hands had lifted and was touching the ends of his hair just behind his ear.

Laurent shivered, and Damen pulled him in even closer, but that time it had nothing to do with the cold.

The light overhead, which always made Laurent look pale and deathly, served to brighten Damen’s eyes, bounce off his hair and cast a warm halo around his head. Laurent had never been much for romance, or much familiar with it, but this seemed like a moment to him, and he intended to take it.

He lifted a hand and put it behind Damen’s neck, drawing him down.

Damen bent willingly, eyes dark, but at the moment when Laurent lifted his head, intending to meet Damen’s mouth, he found Damen’s shoulder instead as Damen hugged him.

Laurent froze in confusion, wondering how exactly this had happened. He kept his hand on the back of Damen’s neck, but otherwise made no move to return the hug.

After a moment, Damen backed off, that embarrassed look back on his face. They looked at each other for a moment, before Laurent’s humiliation began to burn through the fog of alcohol, and he turned and began to stride toward his apartment.

“Laurent!” 

Footsteps followed him at a fast clip, and by the time he reached the gate to his apartment complex and was pulling it open, Damen was beside him again. 

“Look—” Damen said, and at the same moment Laurent said, “Don’t.”

Damen hesitated, just looking at him, then he forged ahead. “I want to,” he said. “Just…not like this.”

Laurent frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Damen glanced at his feet, then peered back up at him. “I can wait until we’re both sober.”

Of the two of them, Laurent was certain only he was drunk at the moment, and he felt it was fairly rude for Damen to point this out while also trying to be chivalrous about it.

Laurent rolled his eyes and pushed through the gate. He let it close on Damen, who managed to catch it with ease and follow him in.

“I’m home now, you know,” Laurent said. “You don’t have to walk me to the door.” 

The outer gate to the complex led them to a small courtyard. All around them were the doors to the individual apartments spread around the balconies up top.

“I’ll walk you inside,” Damen said, then hesitated. “Unless you don’t want me to know which one is yours.”

That wasn’t what Laurent wanted, but he didn’t want to acknowledge why that might be. Instead, he remained silent as he and Damen rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, then they walked across the open-air hallway to the far door.

Laurent tried a couple of times to put the key in the lock before Damen eventually took it from him and opened the door.

Auguste’s friends were gone, but the smell of pot was still strong enough that Laurent coughed a little as he made his way deeper into the apartment.

“So—” Damen started, but broke off when a door toward the back of the apartment swung open and hit the wall.

“Laurent!” Auguste said, then hugged him tightly.

Two hugs in one day was not Laurent’s idea of a good day. This one he struggled out of, much to Auguste’s amusement. 

“Glad you haven’t been sacrificed,” he said.

Then his gaze landed on Damen behind him, and a slow smile dawned across his face.

“Oh, I see. You had your own savior to rescue you.” His eyes narrowed, gaze raking over Damen’s cloak before he frowned. “Superman?”

Damen examined himself for a moment, fingering the edge of his cape. “Yeah, I don’t know what this was supposed to be about.”

“Well,” Auguste said, winking pointedly at Laurent and backing slowly toward his bedroom. “You too have fun. But not too much fun. Remember that my bedroom is right next to yours. Maybe consider playing some loud music—”

Laurent collapsed onto the couch, putting a hand over his eyes. “Get out.”

Auguste laughed and closed his bedroom door. In the tense silence that followed, Laurent just waited.

After a protracted moment, Damen cleared his throat.

Laurent opened his eyes and looked at him. Damen was still standing near the doorway, just looking at him. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, his bicep bulging with the movement.

“I should get back,” Damen said, gesturing toward the door.

“OK,” said Laurent.

But Damen continued to stand there, unmoving, just looking at him.

“Well?”

Damen took a deep breath. “What you said…at the Halloween party….” He trailed off.

Laurent raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Damen tapped his fingers against his thigh a few times before he said, “About not being interested.”

Oh. That. Laurent wasn’t sure how to feel about Damen coming out so freely with what he was worried about. And then he just stood there, waiting for Laurent’s response.

The truth was, Laurent didn’t want to think too deeply about whether he was interested or not. Laurent had eyes, and it was obvious Damen was attractive, but Laurent didn’t know him at all. 

What would it mean if he told Damen he was interested? What exactly would Damen expect at that point on? Even though he found Damen attractive, he wasn’t sure if he could have a purely physical relationship with him. Just thinking of the term “friends with benefits” made his face heat. Laurent also wasn’t sure if he was even sexually experienced enough to…be a friend who would benefit anyone more than in the traditional sense. Surely the only people who did that actually knew what they were doing.

And if it wasn’t going to be purely physical, did Damen expect them to start dating? Again, Laurent barely even knew him. He thought back to all those people trying to get Damen’s attention, fairly clamoring for it. How was Laurent supposed to deal with that? Would he also be expected to be someone who would seek Damen out to ask for scraps of his attention? Did Damen even have any free time? How much free time did dating require? At the very least Laurent would expect them to see each other every week or so. Was that even possible with him? And what—

“You really know how to make a guy sweat.”

Laurent blinked, realizing that he’d retreated into his own brain while Damen continued to wait for a response. Laurent couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could see some pink on Damen’s cheeks.

Laurent swallowed and sat up a little taller on the couch. “If I said I was interested…what would that mean?”

Damen shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “You know, whatever. We could hang out and just…you know. Get to know each other. Just keep it casual.”

Shockingly unhelpful.

“And maybe….” Damen slanted a glance at him, a smile tugging at his mouth. “We could finish what we started downstairs.”

Laurent tried not to let that affect him in any noticeable way, but Damen must have been able to see a reaction in his face because the smile only got wider.

“So then…we’ll just…hang out,” Laurent said.

Damen shrugged again. “Yeah. No pressure.”

“Right.”

Then they were just looking at each other again.

Finally, Damen grinned and said, “So, can I get your number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks all for reading/commenting/leaving kudos!! :)


	3. Chapter Three

So, they were hanging out. Whatever that meant.

So far, the only thing that had changed was that Damen texted him.

Which meant that instead of writing notes in his calculus textbook, Damen would text Laurent and say: _i’m gonna lose it if keller says “squeeze principle” one more time_

Laurent pursed his lips to keep from smiling, aware that Damen was watching him from a few seats down the aisle.

_Because you’re a twelve year old?_ Laurent wrote back.

He set his phone down on his desk, but immediately his gaze was drawn back to it when the screen lit up once more. Laurent could see Damen’s next message:

_if i were a twelve year old i’d be a genius to be in this class_

It was too easy of an opening, really. _If you were an 18 year old you’d be a genius to be in this class._

He barely had to look away from the screen before Damen’s response came. _how old are u again?_

Laurent smirked, but it died on his face when Professor Keller said, “Laurent. Eyes up here, please.”

Laurent dropped his phone back to his desk and buried his nose back in his notes, but he could still see the screen light up with Damen’s next message: _ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ , along with an emoji with the tongue sticking out and one eye closed.

This time, Laurent didn’t pick up his phone to look.

He saw a couple more texts come in as class went on, but he continued to ignore them until the bell rang.

He was just exiting the building when Damen caught up to him, falling into step beside him.

“I have to get to class,” Laurent said, before he had a chance to speak.

“I know,” said Damen. “I’m free, so I’ll walk with you.”

Laurent hesitated. “It’s across campus.”

Damen only shrugged. “Like I said, I’m free.”

Laurent didn’t make any other protests, and they’d walked over halfway across campus in near-silence when Laurent turned his attention to his phone. He ignored the other texts from Damen, but he slowed his walk a bit when he saw the text from an unknown number.

He’d deleted the contact as soon as he left his house, but he knew who it was when he began reading it.

_Your account is overdrawn. I’ve transferred $500 from my account, but we’ll need to discuss repayment. Your carelessness is getting tedious._

“You have a sugar daddy I should know about?”

Laurent froze, realizing Damen was peering down at his phone as well.

“No,” Laurent snapped, deleting the message. “It’s none of your business.”

“OK,” Damen said, tone turning contrite. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Stop looking at my messages, then,” said Laurent. He started to walk again, picking up his pace. Damen, with his longer stride, had no trouble keeping up.

A tense silence fell between them. Until Damen said, “So who was it then?”

Laurent glared at him. “No one.” 

Another long silence. They were almost at his building.

It didn’t seem as though Damen was going to say anything else. Normally Laurent was fine with silence, content to let it go on, but there was something about snapping at Damen that made him tense. It was like yelling at a puppy.

“My Uncle,” Laurent finally said. “We’re not on good terms.”

“Family drama,” said Damen. They were at the front of his building now. Laurent stopped walking, and Damen did the same, turning to face him.

Then he put both hands on Laurent’s shoulders, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek.

Laurent froze, which gave Damen the opportunity to lean in a little more and whisper, “So you’re normal after all.” When he drew back, he was grinning. “Have a good class,” he said. “I’ll see you after.”

He started to walk away, and for a moment Laurent just watched him. Then he said, “After?”

Damen turned, hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I’ll meet you here to walk you home.”

“What if I don’t want you to walk me home?” Laurent asked.

“Better tell me now,” Damen said. He was backing up, hands still in his pockets, slowly getting out of hearing range.

The bell rang, and Laurent held his gaze for just a moment more before turning to head inside to class.

True to his word, Damen was waiting for him on the front steps of Thompson Hall when Laurent finished class. He was lounging against the railing, one leg crossed in front of the other, tapping on his phone.

He looked casual and windblown and…hot. Laurent could see a couple girls passing by at the bottom of the stairs giving him sweeping up-and-down looks.

Laurent stepped closer, and Damen looked up and smiled, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“You know…” Laurent began, as he found himself being divested of his backpack, watching as Damen slung it over his own shoulder. “This doesn’t feel like hanging out.”

“Oh yeah?” Damen grinned, loping down the steps and waiting for Laurent to catch up with him. “What does it feel like?”

_Courting_ , Laurent didn’t say because it was old school, and naïve, and stupid. “Stalking.”

Damen quirked a brow, his grin turning into something more like a smirk. “Uh huh. You don’t seem too put out.”

Because he wasn’t. He didn’t say anything, though, and just led the way back to his apartment.

He figured, once there, Damen would give him back his bag and head back to Sigma Chi, but instead he put Laurent’s bag down inside the front door and dropped himself onto the couch, reaching for the remote.

Laurent stared, and it took a few moments before Damen redirected his gaze from the TV to him.

“Make yourself at home,” Laurent said.

Damen smiled. “Want to join me?”

Laurent took in a slow breath, then said, “No. I have work to do.”

“OK,” said Damen, turning back to the TV. He was watching a competitive cooking show, and his rapt attention made Laurent smile a little to himself as he pulled his bookbag over to the couch and curled in the corner furthest from Damen.

Laurent’s attention only moved away from his books when Damen muttered about something that was happening on the screen, or when he laughed at something while looking at his phone.

When Damen stood, Laurent looked up at once. “It’s one,” said Damen. “You want some lunch?”

“I’ll make myself something when I’m done,” said Laurent.

Damen shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I’m up, I can make you something. Or I can order us something.”

_Order us something_. Which meant he’d stay longer, extend their hang out even more. Stupidly, it occurred to Laurent that they were alone, that Auguste likely wouldn’t be back for a few more hours.

“I like Thai,” Laurent said.

Damen smiled again, then dropped back to the couch, sitting closer than he was before. He tapped on his phone for a while, and Laurent turned his attention back to his work, wondering why his heart was beating so fast.

After a few minutes, Damen said. “Here,” and handed Laurent his phone.

Laurent took it, looking through the menu in the food delivery app Damen had open. Laurent picked what he wanted and was about to hand the phone back when an incoming text appeared at the top of the screen.

Nik: _are you ever coming back to the house?_

Laurent shoved the phone back at Damen. “You got a text.”

Damen hummed, but didn’t seem concerned as he proceeded to order their food.

Laurent found that he didn’t have the energy to do his class work anymore, and he snapped his book closed and set it aside.

“Don’t you have some frat duties to do? Torturing pledges? Trying to get women to sleep with you?”

Damen turned a little on the couch, stretching one arm across the back of it, putting it in close proximity to where Laurent was still curled into the opposite armrest.

“Nah,” said Damen. “I’ve never been into torture.” He kept his gaze steady on Laurent when he said, “And I’m not interested in any women right now.”

“Shame,” said Laurent.

“For them, maybe. Hopefully not for you.”

He didn’t even look embarrassed, saying something like that. Laurent, on the other hand, could feel his cheeks heating, but he didn’t break Damen’s gaze.

After a moment, Damen leaned back a little. He was so big that even returning to his end of the couch still meant that his leg, curled up on the couch, was nearly touching Laurent’s foot.

Laurent was content to let the silence stretch out, but he noticed the screen of his phone light up from the coffee table. Laurent picked it up. It was a text from the same unknown number from before.

_Call me. Now._

There was something frustratingly familiar about this tactic. There was no real reason why his Uncle couldn’t call _him_ since he clearly wanted to talk to him, but Laurent knew he’d want Laurent to be the one to reach out, to grovel and beg for a chance to repay him.

“Your Uncle?”

Laurent looked up. He’d forgotten Damen was right there, watching him. “How’d you know?”

“Your expression,” said Damen. “You look….”

He trailed off, and Laurent waited while Damen clearly struggled with what to say next. 

Finally, Damen said, “You look sad.”

Surprising, but Laurent tried not to show that as well.

Laurent turned his attention back to his phone, deleted the message, and set it back on the coffee table. “Well, that’s what family’s good for.”

Damen’s leg brushed against Laurent’s foot on the couch. “You seem to get along with Auguste.”

Laurent’s gaze refocused on his knees. Yes…but Auguste was his shining star, and always had been. The only pinpoint of light in his sky after their parents died, after Laurent had gone to live with his Uncle. But he couldn’t say it out loud. Even thinking it made him embarrassed, made him feel like a child again, clinging to Auguste’s coat in the weeks after they’d been orphaned, when Laurent was going to live with his Uncle, and Auguste was going back to college.

His father had never been on good terms with his brother. Laurent never understood why, never much cared, until he was living in his home.

There was something…dark that lurked in his Uncle. There was something that made Laurent’s skin crawl when his Uncle looked at him, something that made Laurent lock his bedroom door at night, dread the sound of his Uncle treading up the stairs to his own room after Laurent had gone to bed. And he had thought that even before he knew how cruel and manipulative his Uncle could be.

But Auguste was there. Not always, but enough. He came back most weekends, would sometimes drop by the house during the week and spend the night. Laurent didn’t know—didn’t want to know—how things would have been different if Auguste hadn’t been there.

“Yes,” Laurent eventually said, realizing Damen was still looking at him. “We’ve always been close…but especially after our parents died.”

Damen’s eyebrows drew up a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

Laurent shook his head. “It’s been a long time now.”

“I’m still sorry,” said Damen. “My mother died after giving birth to me…I can understand what losing a parent feels like.”

They looked at each other. Laurent wanted to get off this topic, but couldn’t think of an appropriate segue. This seemed heavy for hanging out, not that Laurent could figure out fully what that meant yet.

Thankfully Damen seemed to be of a like mind. One side of his mouth quirked up. “Anyway,” he said. “You want to pick something to watch? The food won’t be here for a bit.”

Laurent turned his attention to the TV, began flipping through it as Damen picked up his phone and began typing. He began flipping through their meager supply of channels, hesitating when he saw a familiar cast of characters.

Damen glanced up and smiled. “Dirty Dancing,” he said, slanting a glance at Laurent and looking sly. “Are you a closet romantic?”

Laurent shot him a dirty look. “It’s the only thing on,” he said. Then, a moment later when Damen didn’t respond, Laurent added. “Also…Patrick Swayze.” 

Damen laughed. “You’re a fan?”

“You’re not?”

Damen squinted a little at the screen as Baby and Johnny gyrated. He shrugged.

Laurent hesitated another moment, then asked, “Jennifer Grey?”

Damen shrugged again, this time giving him another sly smile.

Laurent sank back into the cushions a little further. “Oh, that’s right. You have a thing for blondes.”

“Not that I’d say no to either of them if they asked,” Damen said.

Laurent scoffed. “No, of course not.”

When he looked at Damen again, he was grinning, staring at him.

Laurent ignored him determinedly, looking back at the screen. They watched in near silence, aside from Damen’s odd remark on the plot or characters, until the food arrived. 

Damen went down to get it, despite Laurent being standing at the door with his shoes on, so instead he got them both waters and set them on the coffee table and settled in for the rest of the movie while Damen came back with the food.

It was…a lot of food for two people. Or at least that’s what Laurent thought until Damen started to steadily make his way through each carry-out container.

Once Laurent finished his own lunch, he sat back and watched with some sick fascination as Damen continued to eat. Eventually, he seemed to realize Laurent was watching him and he looked up from where he was trying to dig another crab rangoon out of the container.

“Sorry,” he said. “Did you want another?”

“How can you eat like that?” Laurent asked.

Damen patted his stomach. “I work out a lot. Gotta keep refueling.”

Laurent wasn’t sure why he asked. Obviously, he worked out—it wasn’t like he could look the way he did without some effort. Something in his face must have given away his thoughts because Damen quirked a smile at him, then set down the container and wiped his mouth on one of the paper towels on the table.

He leaned back against the couch, and when he did Laurent realized they were right beside each other now, their knees touching. Damen stretched an arm out across the back of the couch, his hand coming to rest lightly against Laurent’s opposite shoulder.

Laurent looked at him. “You’re not even going to pretend to yawn?”

“Oh sorry,” Damen said. “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.” He retracted his arm, gave a giant fake yawn that made Laurent’s jaw ache just looking at it, and then windmilled his arm out behind Laurent. This time, instead of draping his arm across the back of the couch, he instead dropped it fully around Laurent’s shoulders, pulling him in a little.

“Better?” Damen asked.

Laurent swallowed, staring straight ahead at the TV still playing Dirty Dancing. “Yes,” Laurent said. “Much subtler.”

“Good,” said Damen. “Wouldn’t want to be too obvious.”

Laurent swallowed down a laugh, pursing his lips together. He had barely begun to truly refocus on the movie when Damen’s hand began to brush lightly over his arm, skimming the edge of the arm of his t-shirt and then moving down to his skin.

It was a slow touch, barely there, just enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, to make him shiver. He was pressed close enough to Damen’s side that he must have felt it. He paused for a moment, then kept up the movement. 

There was something about the soft touch and trying not to react to it, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, that was getting Laurent’s heart pounding.

Damen shifted beside him, widened his legs and brought them a little closer together. Their thighs pressed together, shocking Laurent with the warmth of it, even between both layers of their jeans.

The movie was winding down, Johnny and Baby performing their final dance number, but Laurent couldn’t care less when Damen’s hand suddenly stopped its tease and slipped up Laurent’s shoulder, then brushed against his neck with the soft tips of his fingers.

Laurent gasped, couldn’t stop it, was just thankful that it was drowned out somewhat by the sound of the TV.

“Laurent,” Damen said.

Laurent looked at him. Had his voice always been that deep? Or his eyes that dark? Laurent didn’t think so.

When he turned to look, Damen’s hand slid again, this time fingering the hair at the back of Laurent’s neck, and the thin skin there.

“What?” Laurent asked, then cleared his throat.

The music swelled on the television while Damen’s fingers continued their slow slide against his skin.

“I want to kiss you,” Damen said.

Laurent’s heart beat loudly in his ears, and his eyes, of their own accord, slipped from Damen’s eyes to his lips.

There was a protracted moment when Laurent couldn’t say anything, or respond at all. Then he nodded, jerkily, and hadn’t even finished by the time Damen had leaned forward and kissed him.

He tasted like Thai food, vaguely, but it hardly mattered. Not when his mouth was pressed so warmly to Laurent’s, his hand so firmly against the back of his neck. He could still feel Damen’s thigh against his own, pressing decisively now as Damen turned more fully to face him.

Laurent didn’t know how it happened, but he realized he had one of his hands fisted in the front of Damen’s shirt, the other gripping his shoulder. He made to move away, but then Damen was pulling him even closer, gripping Laurent’s waist and pulling him in.

The touch, so firm and hot against Laurent’s side, had his gut clenching warm and tight, had his mouth opening on a gasp. Damen’s tongue slid into his mouth, slick and overwhelming against his own.

Damen’s fingers carded through his hair, scratched against his scalp and made Laurent give a full-body shiver against him. He was leaning up against Damen’s side, on the verge of trying to press closer, when there was the scrape and thunk of the deadbolt on the front door unlocking, and then the squeak of the door opening.

“Oh!” 

Laurent broke away, falling back against the couch away from Damen, putting a hand over his mouth.

Augsute’s expression from where he stood in the doorway was vacillating between amusement and discomfort.

“You look constipated,” said Laurent.

Auguste closed the door. “You look…well.”

Laurent flushed, which was a feat because it already felt as though his face was on fire. He glanced at Damen, who was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He was flushed, too, and his hair was mussed, his lips swollen.

Laurent had done that to him, made him look hike that. A moment later Damen glanced at him, his eyes tracing over Laurent’s features, and his dark eyes seemed to smolder with something intense and anticipatory.

Across the room, Auguste cleared his throat. Laurent looked up in time to see him heading down the hallway toward his bedroom.

“Don’t forget—my room is right next to yours!”

Laurent rolled his eyes, then looked up when Damen stood and began clearing up the remnants of their dinner.

“I can do it,” Laurent said.

Damen shook his head. “I ate most of it.”

Laurent grabbed their glasses and put them in the kitchen at least, catching Damen as he was throwing away the last of the containers.

“I should get going,” Damen said when he saw Laurent standing there.

“OK,” said Laurent.

They looked at each other. The credits were rolling on the movie, a commercial beginning to play in the background. 

They both stepped forward. Damen’s arm went around him at once, pulling him closer. He leaned down to catch Laurent’s mouth with his again.

The angle was worse this way, Laurent had to crane up even with Damen leaning down to meet him, but it was a distant thought beneath the more pressing thought was of how good it felt—how good Damen felt against him.

Damen was already grinning by the time they broke apart.

“OK, now I’m leaving,” said Damen.

Laurent leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “OK.”

Then Damen pressed against his front and kissed him again.

Much later Laurent realized he’d never gone to his evening class.  
________________________________________

The next weeks moved quickly. Damen still walked him to classes, and they had dinner together on nights when Damen didn’t have obligations at the fraternity.

Twice more Damen had suggested studying together, but that quickly devolved into kissing on Laurent’s couch while Auguste was at class, or kissing on top of Damen’s bed at the frat, and Laurent quickly realized if he wanted to get any real studying done they’d either need to do it in public spaces, or separately.

In that time, Laurent hadn’t received any other texts from his Uncle. He tried to take it as a blessing, but more often than not whenever he thought about it, he’d get a knot in the pit of his stomach of pure dread.

He was in his room studying—alone—when his phone screen lit up on the desk beside him. He picked it up, thinking it might be Damen, bored at the brothers-only hang out at the fraternity, but hesitated when he saw it was from his Uncle’s number.

After a long moment of looking at the notification signaling one new text, he finally opened it.

_I’ll be at the University next week. We can have dinner. Or, if you continue to ignore me, I’ll visit you at your apartment._

Laurent slowly lowered his phone back to the desk.

So, either way he’d be seeing his Uncle next week.

He knew he should tell Auguste, but something held him back. It seemed childish to run to Auguste and tell him he didn’t want to see his Uncle.

What would Auguste do, anyway?

But even as he thought that, he knew. Auguste would tell his Uncle to fuck off, would go to meet him in Laurent’s place, and then would pay back the $500 and give Laurent as much money as he needed.

He knew that because he knew Auguste, and Laurent knew that he’d do anything to protect his little brother.

He checked the time, then got to his feet, pulling on his jacket. Even if Damen’s frat hang-out was still happening, Laurent could sneak in and wait for him in his room. He just couldn’t be in his apartment anymore.

He didn’t want to talk to Auguste, so he left a note on the coffee table in case he came looking for him, and then slipped out the front door, heading for the fraternity houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bad on the wait!! work has me like ☠️☠️☠️


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still kicking!!! soz for the wait <3

It was easy to get into the house unnoticed. There wasn’t any real party happening, but there were enough sorority sisters hanging out downstairs that most of the brothers were thoroughly distracted. 

Laurent headed up the stairs and came to a halt in front of Damen’s bedroom door. Bracing himself, he lifted a hand and knocked.

No answer. He waited for what felt like a full minute, tamping down the impulse to fidget, and then raised his hand and knocked again.

“Just go in,” someone said.

Laurent froze, then looked slowly toward the door next to Damen’s, which was open. Nik was standing in the doorway watching him.

“He probably has his headphones on,” said Nik. “If his door’s unlocked, just go in. He won’t mind.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. Entering someone’s room unannounced seemed like a recipe for disaster—he knew he would be more than annoyed if someone did that to him.

But he was here, and his only real option was to turn and leave again. So, he put a hand on the doorknob and turned.

It was unlocked, so he took Nik’s advice and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

Damen was in here, and as Nik said, he had a pair of black headphones over his ears as he sat at his computer, back to the door. The room was dim; the overhead light was off, so the only light came from a lamp on the bedside table on Damen’s bed, and the light from his computer.

Laurent took a step forward and to the side, hoping Damen would see him in his peripheral vision and not freak out. When he did that, the screen of Damen’s computer was visible to him, and Laurent hesitated.

It was his own Facebook profile. Damen had enlarged a picture of him and Auguste, one of the few recent pictures that he had up, from the first day that they’d moved into their apartment. 

He stepped forward, and Damen whipped his head around, then lifted a hand and removed his headphones.

“Hey!” He smiled, stood up, and came forward.

“Am I interrupting?” Laurent asked, and Damen’s smile faltered when he turned and saw what was still on his screen.

He reached over and closed his laptop with a snap. “Busted,” he said.

“So, you are stalking me,” said Laurent.

Damen’s gaze flitted over his face before seemingly being comforted by whatever he saw there. He smiled, then took one of Laurent’s hands in his. “Just cyber stalking,” he said.

A moment of silence fell between them, then Damen said, “I wasn’t expecting you tonight…is everything OK?”

Laurent pondered that question for a moment, looking at where he had his hand wrapped up in one of Damen’s large ones.

“Yes,” said Laurent. He could hear a distant _thump-thump-thump_ of bass from a room somewhere down the hall, along with someone laughing and talking as they walked past Damen’s door.

Over that, though, Laurent heard the pounding of his own heart, beating loud in his ears. He took a breath.

“I…” It seemed like, of its own accord, the hand in Damen’s tightened, and Damen gave an answering squeeze to his fingers. “I just…wanted to come here.”

A firm grip landed on the back of his neck, and Laurent looked up. Damen was just looking at him, his gaze molten and warm, causing a similar warming effect in the pit of Laurent’s stomach.

When Damen leaned in, Laurent tilted his face up, but Damen didn’t kiss him. After a protracted moment, Laurent leaned up onto his toes and kissed Damen instead.

It was different, being the one to initiate things. This wasn’t a situation where he was generally in control, so being the one to lead was disconcerting. After a protracted moment of lips against lips, fairly chaste, Laurent put a hand on the back of Damen’s neck to drag him closer, opened his mouth against Damen’s and couldn’t stifle the sigh that he released when Damen opened against him, slipped his tongue into Laurent’s mouth, slick and hot against his own.

It was lucky when Damen leaned back, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Laurent down with him because Laurent didn’t think his legs could hold him for much longer.

For endless minutes they stayed like that, on top of the covers, on their sides and kissing. This was familiar; this was something Laurent had grown accustomed to now. Even when Damen advanced on him, pushing Laurent gently onto his back and pressing down against him, Laurent was used to the feeling. So instead of pushing Damen away, Laurent gasped and gripped both of Damen’s shoulders, his gut tightening from the sudden pressure against him—against all of him.

Laurent wouldn’t classify Damen as an aggressor—he was large, and intimidating, but Laurent had never seen him angry. So it wasn’t aggressive when he pounced on Laurent, pinning him under his body, gripping his hips and nipping his lips, but it was intent, hot, inexorable, and made Laurent’s eyes roll back.

Eventually though, when the need for _more_ overwhelmed him, Laurent pushed Damen back, and Damen went at once, flopping back into the bed, looking at Laurent with big, dark eyes, his hair mussed. Laurent didn’t let himself think as he turned away and pulled his shirt over his head.

When he glanced back, Damen was propped up on elbow, leisurely peering at the expanse of Laurent’s torso. Laurent began to reach for his shirt again, unable to escape the vulnerable feeling in his chest, but Damen slipped a hand against his waist and eased him back down to the bed.

“Are you just going to leave me like this?” Laurent asked.

Damen’s eyebrows rose, and Laurent quickly clarified: “Your shirt. We’re not even.”

Damen grinned, sat up, and quickly divested himself of his shirt, tossing it carelessly away. Laurent swallowed, his mouth dry enough that his throat clicked. Damen didn’t appear to notice, as his attention once more returned to Laurent’s torso.

“What kind of exercise do you do?”

Laurent hesitated. “I swim.”

Damen hummed, the hand on Laurent’s waist slipping across his stomach to grip his opposite side. Damen tugged Laurent onto his side, and then kept tugging until he managed to roll onto his back and pull Laurent on top of him.

Laurent went, a little stiffly now that the heat of the moment had dissipated slightly, propping himself over Damen, hands on either side of his head, but some of the starch went out of his muscles when Damen slid both palms firmly up Laurent’s sides.

“There we go,” Damen said quietly, continuing to rub Laurent’s back as Laurent sank until he was resting chest to chest with Damen, most of his bodyweight splayed over Damen’s front.

One of Damen’s hands slid higher, scratching over the base of Laurent’s neck and Laurent couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him. Damen didn’t quite smile, but his eyes warmed considerably, and the hand at the back of Laurent’s neck firmed and applied pressure, bringing Laurent down to meet him.

Damen kissed him, just barely catching Laurent’s bottom lip before releasing it. Laurent waited, and Damen did it again…and again…kissing only with lips, mouthing against Laurent without ever deepening anything, moving slow enough that Laurent could feel his heartbeat skyrocketing as the anticipation built.

He didn’t realize he’d begun to rock himself against Damen’s stomach until Damen moaned, startlingly loud in the quiet of the room.

Laurent made to pull back, but Damen put one hand in his hair, keeping his face down, and put the other on his lower back, keeping him pressed tight to Damen’s stomach. Then Damen’s tongue swept into his mouth, pressed against Laurent’s, and Laurent gasped.

This time when he pulled away, he disengaged completely, rolling off Damen and sitting up at the edge of the bed.

He realized he was panting, and behind him Damen was, too.

“What?” Damen asked. The bed squeaked as he sat up, and a moment later a hand landed lightly on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I—nothing,” Laurent said, shuddering when Damen’s hand slipped down a little, caressing over his shoulder blade.

“Then come back,” said Damen.

Laurent sucked in a breath, gearing up for his next sentence. “I—I’m too—”

He couldn’t finish, but a moment passed before Damen blew out a warm breath against the back of Laurent’s neck.

“Isn’t that the point?” Damen asked. The hand on Laurent’s back moved back to his shoulder, began to knead lightly.

Laurent didn’t respond, wasn’t sure how to.

Eventually, Damen’s hand slipped down his arm, fingers skimming lightly. “Do you want me to help?”

Laurent _really_ didn’t know how to answer that. Instead, he focused on the golden light from the bedside table, the feeling of warmth on his skin, slowly cooling the longer he stayed apart from Damen.

After a moment of silence, Damen pressed up against Laurent’s back, sliding an arm around him and resting his palm against his collarbone. 

Laurent shuddered, let his head fall back to rest against Damen’s shoulder. He felt, more than heard, Damen rumble a laugh against him. Laurent considered being annoyed at that, but the thought fled his mind when the hand on his chest found his nipple and rubbed against it, when Damen’s lips began to skim along the thin skin of his neck, mouthing and kissing.

Laurent couldn’t hold back his gasp, or the way that his breathing started to come faster. Damen rumbled against his back once more, but this time Laurent didn’t think it was a laugh.

That big hand was still caressing his chest, and when Damen shifted closer, bracketing Laurent’s thighs with his own and pulling Laurent’s back flush against his front, Laurent could feel the hardness of him pressing against his low back.

“Damen,” Laurent said. He blindly found Damen’s free hand and brought it around him too, pressing it to his stomach.

Teeth pressed against his neck when Damen smiled. He hummed, fingering the hair below Laurent’s navel, making his squirm.

“Do I need to write you an invitation?” Laurent asked, licking his lips.

Damen huffed against him, those fingers just rubbing him over and over again, right above his waistband.

“Dear Damen, I invite you to jack me off?”

The breath froze in Laurent’s throat, and he closed his eyes, shuddering.

Damen laughed quietly against him, and then finally he popped the button to Laurent’s jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper. Laurent waited, tensed, but after a protracted moment, Damen just went back to rubbing under his belly button.

Laurent waited, but the longer Damen took, the more on edge Laurent became, until he was shifting against Damen unconsciously, his breath coming in gasps.

“Damen,” Laurent finally said, and he barely recognized his own voice; quiet, and low, and a little pleading.

Damen’s arm around him tightened, his fingers toying with Laurent’s nipple again, and at the same moment his other hand slid into Laurent’s pants and gripped the length of him, skin to skin.

Laurent realized that he was gripping Damen’s thigh with a steel grip, and forced himself to relax. Though there was only so much he could do when Damen firmed his grasp and began to jerk Laurent off in earnest. 

He kept his eyes closed, but he could still feel the heat of Damen’s gaze watching him, gauging his reactions. And it was clear he was paying attention because after a minute he slowed down in the way that made Laurent pant, made his stomach turn to liquid heat, made his grip on Damen’s thigh return.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, had to make a concentrated effort to not rock his hips into Damen’s hand, but then Damen’s thumb rolled slowly over the head of his dick, and Damen’s teeth found his earlobe and pulled, and Laurent came with a jerk, gritting his teeth.

Damen gave a raspy little moan when it happened, right into Laurent’s ear. And it took a moment, through the haze of Laurent’s mind, to realize that Damen had his hips in a tight grip and was rocking slowly against him. It was only for a moment until Damen’s mouth found his throat again and he scraped his teeth against the skin, shuddering.

For a long moment they stayed like that, just breathing, until finally Laurent stood on slightly shaky legs, buttoning up his pants and reaching for his shirt. Damen just watched, lounging back against the bed and looking wrung out.

“Don’t leave,” he said.

Laurent paused, and then continued to pull his shirt on. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “Just…going to clean myself up.”

Damen nodded, and then lay fully back against the bed.

Laurent slipped out the door and down the hallway. Next to Damen’s room, Nik’s door was open, and he was with a few other guys all huddled around his TV either playing video games or watching the others play. A few of them looked up when Laurent passed, but he didn’t dawdle. 

The bathroom was free, and only mildly disgusting when he entered. He wiped down his stomach and splashed some cold water on his face, and spent a little while flattening his hair back down. When someone pounded on the door, Laurent stifled the urge to jump, then frowned and opened the door.

“You done?” said Nik, waiting on the other side, giving him a sweeping look.

Laurent said, “No,” and shut the door in his face out of spite, and then spent another five minutes doing nothing at all.

Then he flushed the toilet, let the water in the sink run for a minute, and finally opened the door. Nik was still standing there, and as soon as the door opened, he shoved his way inside. Laurent left before Nik could close the door on him.

When he got back to Damen’s room, he had moved under the covers of his bed and had his eyes closed. His eyelashes flickered when Laurent closed the door, but otherwise he didn’t move. Laurent looked at him for a moment, then he flipped off the light, slipped his pants back off, and flipped back the covers on the opposite side of the bed from Damen.

Damen stirred a little, reacting to the draft of cooler air maybe, but a moment later he settled again when Laurent carefully got into the bed beside him, dragging one of the pillows away from Damen and over to his own side.

Almost immediately Damen sought him out, eyes still closed, breath still even, but one arm snaked around Laurent and drew him closer. To Laurent’s own surprise, he didn’t mind it, and he realized only a moment later that he was starting to drift off to the sound of Damen’s soft breaths.

________________________________________

It was early by the time he slipped out of Damen’s room and descended the stairs of the frat. Damen was still asleep upstairs, stirring only long enough to groan when Laurent extricated himself from his hold this morning, but fast asleep again by the time Laurent had put his pants back on. It was late enough that anyone up late the night before had finally given up and gone to sleep, early enough that even the early risers were still in bed. 

On the wall halfway down the stairs, Laurent’s eyes passed over a bulletin board scattered with fliers and notes. His gaze caught on a bright pink flier that read:

CLEANER NEEDED FOR GREEK HOUSES. KNOW ANYONE WHO’D BE INTERESTED? CALL BELOW. COMPETITIVE PAY OFFERED!!

Laurent wondered what kind of competitive pay existed between cleaning companies, but really, with the prospect of his Uncle’s meeting imminent, he wasn’t in a position to be picky. He tore off one of the strips of paper below that listed the cleaning company and a phone number and shoved it in his pocket as he continued down the stairs and out the front door.

________________________________________

He called the number the next day and talked to a woman named Martha, who sounded exhausted. Laurent couldn’t blame her, after hearing that she almost singlehandedly cleaned the largest fraternity houses on a regular basis. Surprise of surprises, she was usually understaffed as not many people found it very lucrative. “Competitive pay” was apparently something of an overstatement.

Laurent met up with her after class a couple of days later, where she immediately took him to one of the fraternity houses to get to work. “It’s not rocket science,” she said, handing him a rag and bottle of cleaner. “You can figure it out.”

That was the extent of his training. Though Laurent agreed with her; he could figure it out.

The frat they were cleaning was one he’d never been in before. Laurent tried to act as though he belonged there, as though creeping around and trying to avoid everyone was already part of his normal duties. He got a few odd looks, from people who were no doubt used to seeing Martha alone, or maybe Martha with some other regular.

As Laurent scrubbed a toilet with vigor, shooting a glare at a frat member who pushed open the stall door on him, Laurent thought grimly that he’d be able to pay off his Uncle in no time. And Auguste would be none the wiser.

Martha took him to two more houses—neither of them Damen’s. Laurent knew it was only a matter of time, but Martha explained to him that her services were used once every couple of days, just to keep the houses in more or less presentable order. After large events, the houses would employ a larger cleaning company with more robust equipment.

Based on the parties that Laurent had attended, he decided he did not envy their job at all.

But, he figured he’d have to get used to the idea that eventually he’d go to Sigma Chi, and maybe run into Damen. He also figured that he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

After Martha had thoroughly inspected her cleaning supplies, maybe worried that Laurent would try to steal a rag for himself, she let him go. His hands were vaguely moist after being encased in rubber gloves for half the day, and the pay was abysmal. But it was something; certainly more than he’d had before, which is all he could ask for.

He didn’t know when exactly his Uncle would contact him again and let him know that he was in town, but it could be any day now. If Laurent picked up a couple more shifts, he could at least pay back half of what he owed. And he still had the remaining money in his account—whatever was left from the money his Uncle had sent him that didn’t go to food, or rent…or utilities. It wasn’t much, but he might as well give it back now.

“Where have you been?” was Auguste’s question almost as soon as he walked in the door to the apartment.

Laurent hesitated on the threshold. “The library.”

“You’re doing a lot of studying lately,” Auguste said, lounging back in the couch, arms crossed.

“Finals are coming up,” said Laurent.

Auguste narrowed his eyes. Laurent knew that he suspected he’d been with Damen, which was fine by him. Auguste wouldn’t like him working as a cleaner. In reality, Auguste wouldn’t like him working as anything. To Auguste, Laurent’s job was school, and Auguste would pay the way for Laurent to focus only on school. 

But it wasn’t right. Auguste wasn’t his father, and just because he had full access to the trust fund their parents had left him didn’t mean that Laurent was willing to take his money, or let Auguste support him financially.

“You look tired,” Auguste said then.

He was, no thanks to tirelessly cleaning for hours on end. Laurent blinked. “Studying is exhausting, but I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

Auguste’s lip twitched. “Ouch.”

But he didn’t say anything else, so Laurent escaped to his room and closed the door firmly shut behind him.

He collapsed onto his bed, arms spread wide, and when he heard his phone chime with a text, for a long moment he just considered ignoring it until the morning.

_But it could be Damen_ , he thought, and then for a long moment considered ignoring it so his life wouldn’t be dictated by some guy.

But that only lasted so long, and after he felt he’d waited an appropriately long time, to prove to himself that he didn’t care about some guy and his texts, he stood up and picked his phone up off his desk.

It wasn’t Damen. It was his Uncle.

_Tomorrow. 7 o’clock at Il Fornaio. I expect to see you there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz x 2 
> 
> :)


End file.
